


Dreams

by skyblue_reverie



Series: These Violent Delights [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Westworld (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Western, Gen, Trope Bingo Amnesty, Trope Bingo Round 15, dark themes, not-very-fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyblue_reverie/pseuds/skyblue_reverie
Summary: Teyla's dreams used to be very different.  For one thing, she never imagined she'd become the madam of a whorehouse.
Relationships: Teyla Emmagan & John Sheppard
Series: These Violent Delights [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075637
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fifteen





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> SGA/Westworld fusion. See [series notes](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075637) for info. Some dialogue from this part from Westworld, Season 1 Episode 1. This fic fills the square "fluff" for my [trope bingo card](https://skyblue-reverie.dreamwidth.org/88973.html). Okay, it's not super fluffy but for this 'verse, it's pretty much as fluffy as it gets!

It was Teyla’s opinion that men were pigs. Maybe there were a few good ones out there, but for the most part – pigs. And she’d seen more than her fair share of men, and seen a lot more than she wanted to of most of the men she’d met.

Still, they paid the bills. And if they tried _not_ to pay the bills, she had ways of reminding them. _Painful_ ways. 

It was only midmorning and already there was a bustling trade going on at the Mariposa, in both the boozing and the whoring sides of her business. Lots of newcomers to fleece. Heaven knew where they all came from, but she was grateful for them. They were a hell of a lot cleaner than the local men, and more likely to pay their liquor tabs too.

She leaned back against the bar and surveyed her saloon with a proprietary air. _Her_ saloon. This wasn’t where she ever thought she’d end up in life, but she was an independent woman, and in this world that was nothing to sneeze at.

Once upon a time, she’d dreamed of something different. A small farm, a family with a child or two, and lots of open space – not the same kind of freedom she enjoyed as the saloon’s owner, but freedom nonetheless. She could still remember those dreams so clearly – she could practically taste them on her tongue. Only nowadays, somehow, in her mind, her dreams always turned to nightmares of blood and death, the booming of a shotgun, followed by the crack of a pistol, the smell of gunsmoke and the dying cries of a little boy she loved more than her own heart.

She startled as the sound of gunfire erupted outside the window. Damn, she was woolgathering again. She ignored the commotion outside and turned to face the bartender. “Give me a sherry, the good stuff,” she told him.

As soon as the glass was in front of her she slammed it back. So what if her girlhood dreams hadn’t come true – she was still a hell of a lot luckier than most. 

Sheriff Sheppard pushed in through the swinging doors and she gladly accepted the distraction. He was fairly new to his job and she didn’t know him well yet, but she’d tentatively placed him in the “not pig” category of men, a rarefied distinction.

He ambled up to the bar and tipped his hat at her. “Good morning, Miss Teyla,” he said. She nearly rolled her eyes at the excessive formality but part of her appreciated the courtesy. It was so rare.

“Hello, Sheriff,” she said in return. “What brings you to my establishment this morning?” She knew already it wasn’t booze or whores that he wanted – the latter he never used and the former only judiciously and only ever in the evening.

“Oh, just making the rounds,” he said easily. “Making sure none of these newcomers is causing any trouble.”

It was something she’d noticed about him – he didn’t trust the newcomers. No matter how ornery or downright mean the locals were, he still seemed to prefer them to the ones fresh from the train.

“No trouble here, as you can see,” she told him. “I heard a bit of a ruckus outside, though – what happened there?”

He settled himself next to her, leaning back against the bar like she was. “Old Walter got offended by something one of the newcomers said to him, took a shot at him. Must’ve been drunker than he seemed ‘cause he missed entirely. Of course, the newcomer took exception to being fired upon, and returned fire. He was a lousy shot too, only winged Walter. Doc Beckett is seeing to him now, but I reckon he’ll be fine.”

Teyla nodded. Nothing too serious, then. The Sheriff gave a loud yawn and she glanced at him in some amusement. “I tell my girls not to open their mouths that wide unless they’re being paid for it,” she remarked.

He choked on his own spit and fell into a coughing spell. She allowed herself a small smile of amusement – he really was so easy to shock. It was a strange sort of innocence for a former soldier and current sheriff, but it was… nice. To think that maybe not everything and everyone in the world was tainted.

When he’d gotten over his coughing fit, he spoke. “Excuse me, Miss Teyla,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t get too much sleep last night.”

“Oh? Someone keeping you up?” This could be prime gossip. He shook his head though.

“No, just… dreams. Strange ones.”

She looked at him with interest. Most men certainly wouldn’t admit to being troubled by mere dreams. She made a snap decision to open up to him, just a little.

“I’ve had strange dreams lately too. Sometimes at night, sometimes they’re daydreams, but they feel so real.”

“There’s some kind of change coming,” he said, in an apparent non sequitur. “I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it in my gut and I don’t like it.”

“You think your dreams are connected to whatever’s coming?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Then he seemed to shake himself out of his contemplative mood. “Well, I’d better get back to my rounds. Give me a holler if you need anything, ma’am.” Then he tipped his hat and was gone.

For a few moments she gazed after him. That had been interesting. John Sheppard would be a good ally to have – and maybe even a friend. Then the sound of broken glass and raucous male shouts at the card table brought her back to the moment. She sighed to herself at the men’s shenanigans and made a mental note to charge them double for the broken glass. Yes, men were pigs.


End file.
